


Don't Take A Picture

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9591764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: “It’s been a bad day.” He doesn’t raise his voice. It’ll cut across the dark easily. “Please. Don’t take a picture.”Jack and Eric meet late at night and, somehow, despite rudeness and misunderstandings, start a friendship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a zimbits alternate meeting au [inspired by](https://play.google.com/music/preview/Tzg3kbzbnvp6mqy24gnelni52he?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics&u=0#)

Jack’s appreciating the serenity the empty street offers him tonight after a harsh loss earlier. He should be in bed, really. Sleeping, preferably. But when his brain is going in circles the way it is...

He likes the cool air on his skin. He likes the way the streetlights hit the pavement and then fade away. He likes the smell of the river on the gentle breeze.

He becomes aware that someone else is on the street with him. Walking towards him with a phone out, held aloft and pointing to where he sits on the bench.

He sighs out and looks away, hoping he’ll be ignored.

The person stops walking. He can hear the silence following the stop of their _tread-tread-tread_ on the pavement.

It happens, and he gets it, truly. People like to have proof that they saw him, even if they saw him doing something as ordinary as sitting at night by the water.

He looks back over, then away quickly. The man’s phone is still out.

Jack’s knows for being courteous with fans, but tonight he’s not in the mood.

“It’s been a bad day.” He doesn’t raise his voice. It’ll cut across the dark easily. “ _Please_. Don’t take a picture.”

He feels crappy about saying it but he’s learnt that sometimes, you have to put yourself first.

The man looks behind him, as if in doubt Jack was talking to him when there’s clearly no-one else around. The man lowers his phone but doesn’t put it away.

“Sorry.”

Jack can’t make out much beyond the silhouette. The stranger is back lit, having stepped almost beyond the ring of the nearest streetlight.

“I, uh... wasn’t taking a photo though.”

Jack knows what people look like when they’re trying to be subtle about capturing a picture of him. He knows what they look like when it’s blatant, too.

“You don’t have to lie,” Jack says, with some hardness in his tone, his exhaustion having thinned his conversational filter.

“I wasn’t,” the man answers, with a bit of bite.

Jack looks away from the man, unconvinced.

“Sir, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable that I—”

“It’s fine, just—” Jack sighs out again. “Sorry I said anything. You should go to wherever you’re heading.”

“Actually,” the man starts, then cuts himself off with a hand to his mouth.

“I’m...” The man bites his lip, then shakes his head. “Actually, yes. You’re right. I’ll just...” he points in the direction he was heading earlier.

Jack watches him as he walks by, noting that he’s still gripping his phone tightly. He glances at Jack as he passes, and Jack realises the man is older than he thought, having based his guess on voice and stature.

Jack watches until the figure has walked past the next streetlight, before he turns back to watch the lazy movement of the water. He breathes in deep, holds it, lets it out again, trying to find his earlier appreciation for the night. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

It’s not working. He sighs out and stands up, stretching out his back before resigning himself to walking back to his apartment and trying to find sleep.

He hasn’t gone far at all, just around the next corner, when he comes across someone. He realises very quickly that it’s the same man who he’d been with earlier that night. Again, he’s on his phone, tapping repetitively at his screen.

Jack frowns and crosses the street so he doesn’t have to walk by him directly. When he gets close enough though, a sound carries through the night.

Crying.

Jack stops and looks to where the man is still a few metres ahead of him on the other side of the street. There’s no-one else around, so it has to be him crying. Jack doesn’t understand.

He can’t ignore the next cry though, and before he can think too hard on it, he’s crossing the street.

“Excuse me. Are you alright?”

“Sorry, sorry.” The man wipes his eyes as he turns around. Jack can tell the exact moment he recognises him.

“Are you alright?” Jack asks again, and tries not to feel put off by the way the man has taken a clear step back.

The other man doesn’t say anything, just glances down at his phone quickly. Jack can tell suddenly that he’s managing to scare the stranger. He can’t leave this man alone and sobbing in a dark street though. He starts again.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude.” The other man nods, placatingly. “I’m not going to… to hurt you or anything, I just... _are_ you alright?”

The longer this man says nothing, the more concerned Jack gets, the more he’s sure this person isn’t alright. He tries to remember what Shitty used to do in college when Jack was having issues recognising safety, and people being genuine instead of malicious.

“How can I make you comfortable? What do you need?”

The other man opens his mouth and closes it. Then he whispers, “Step back. And em-empty your pockets.”

Jack takes two steps back. He slowly takes out his phone and house keys, laying them by his feet. He inverts his pockets then holds his hands up with flat palms.

“I’m not alright,” the man whispers after several seconds. His eyes are fixed on Jack’s hands. “I’m lost.”

Jack is relived. This he can help with.

“Okay. Do you want help?”

The man takes in a deep breath and nods. “Yes.”

Jack looks down at his possessions on the sidewalk. "Can I?”

The other man nods.

Jack picks them up slowly and re-pockets them, then makes sure to keep his hands in view.

“Where are you trying to get to?”

“Jordan Street. Near the William Forsythe Library.”

Jack’s eyebrows lift. That’s not close.

“What? What is it.”

The other man has obviously noted Jack’s reaction. “Nothing bad,” he rushes to say. “It’s just, that isn’t exactly close. There’s no buses at this time.”

The other man looks skyward and presses his lips together.

“You could get an uber, maybe. Not sure what it would cost.”

“How long to walk it?”

“Almost an hour.”

“Shit,” the other man lets out with aggression.

Jack steps forward and is strangely pleased when the other man doesn’t back away. He maybe didn’t notice though, seeing as he looks to be on the edge of crying again.

“It’s okay. At least you’re not alone now, eh?”

It’s a miserable attempt at humour. The other man looks over to Jack with something close to pity.

“I don’t know you. You’re going to leave in a minute and I’ll still be lost.” His voice cracks over the exclamation.

“I’m not going to leave you alone,” Jack says, surprising both himself and the stranger in equal measure.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering. _Please_ ,” Jack adds, for the second time this night, though now in a better circumstance.

The stranger looks away from Jack and fiddles with his phone, indecision written on his face.

“I live five minutes away. Stay at mine tonight, and you can get a bus home in the morning.” Jack wonders whether it’s his parents’ selflessness that is making him so adamant his offer of assistance be accepted.

The man stops playing with his phone. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Jack probably wouldn’t think it was either if their positions were reversed, but he honestly has only the best intentions.

“What about,” Jack tries to think of some way he can make this person believe him, and take him up on his offer. Jack’s determined now that this stranger see that he’s only trying to help. Maybe to make up for a horrible first impression. Maybe because Jack hasn’t thought about the lost game since this whole encounter starter. “What about, you ask me questions on the way. I promise truthful answers. If you decide I’m trustworthy, stay. If not, I’ll pay for the uber.”

The stranger looks at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Lord, you don’t have to do that. Especially not after I interrupted your evening. Twice now.”

Jack stats shaking his head halfway through the sentence.

“It’s okay, uh...?”

“Eric.”

Jack smiles. “It’s okay, Eric. I ruined your night just as much by accusing you.”

Jack holds his smile as the man—Eric—looks to his phone once more, before putting it into his pocket.

“Alright. But first, what’s your name?”

“Jack. My name’s Jack.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eric is perfectly companionable on the walk, easing into conversation much faster than Jack would have with a complete stranger. Although, after Eric’s first question about why Jack thought he’d been taking a photo, it turns out that Eric does know who ‘Jack Zimmermann’ is (“or I’ve heard _of_ you, at least, but you aint in hockey pads so I’d have no luck picking you out in a line up.”)

On the walk, Jack finds himself answering Eric’s questions with more words than he affords the press after games, and with more smiles too. By the time they’re outside the entrance to the lobby, Jack finds himself hoping Eric will decide to come up.

Jack stops and Eric walks another few steps before Jack says, “We’re here,” and gestures to the doorway of the building.

Eric looks up the building’s exterior and then to Jack.

“Are you sure I can come in?”

Jack tries not to get giddy. He sticks to a nod, lest anything too intense works its way past his diminished filter.

“Okay then. Thank you for this, Jack. I really appreciate it.”

Jack leads Eric inside and to the elevator. The ride up is quiet, but not uncomfortable. That is, until Jack starts worrying about the state of his apartment. He’s pretty sure all his laundry is away, but he thinks there may be dishes in the sink, and the bookshelf he’s yet to assemble is taking up space in the hallway.

He takes a deep breath and tries to convince himself those things won’t matter.

“Your place is very nice,” Eric says with awe when they enter, eyes flitting over the space, and Jack is relieved.

Jack waits until Eric looks back to him, before telling him where the bathroom is.

“Do you want me to find you something to sleep in?” Jack offers, knowing that whatever he finds will be too big.

“Only if it’s not a worry.”

“It’s not.”

Jack goes into his room and pulls out a pair of sleeping pants and a soft, blue t-shirt.

He knocks on the bathroom door. “Eric? I’ve got some clothes.”

Eric opens the door and takes the pile from Jack.

“There’s spare toothbrushes in the top drawer, and if you need to take a shower, go ahead.”

“I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll just get out of these jeans and go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Jack leaves Eric to it, and changes into his own sleeping clothes. He plugs his phone in to charge, and recalls that he turned it off when he left earlier. He remembers why when the unread messages from his parents and several teammates come through. He feels fine enough to respond to his parents, and Marty and Tater, but then he lets himself ignore the others until tomorrow.

He can hear Eric leave the bathroom, and listens out for the sounds of footsteps passing his room. They don’t come.

He gets out of bed and checks across the hall. The guest room is empty.

He finds Eric lying on the couch, with the small blanket he keeps there mainly for decoration draped across his body.

“What are you doing?”

Eric sits up slowly, watching Jack. “Have you—did you change your mind?” He asks softly, worrying at his lip.

“No. I wouldn’t. It’s just… I have a guest room?” Jack isn’t sure why it comes out uncertain.

Eric folds his arms over his chest, and looks away from Jack. “You didn’t tell me,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought—I just assumed you’d know.”

“How could I, Jack?” Eric asks sharply. “I’ve never been here before.”

Jack feels stupid for forgetting.

Eric breathes in deeply then sighs out, uncrossing his arms to rub at his face.

“Lord, I am so sorry. I’m just very tired. It’s been a long night.” Eric stands up and gathers his clothes. “Please. I would love to use your guestroom.”

Jack takes him there in silence, opening the right door and going in first to turn the bedside light on.

“Sheets are clean,” he says with control, avoiding Eric’s gaze, until Eric says his name.

“I really am sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t’ve. You’ve been so kind to me.”

Jack simply nods, then leaves Eric, shutting the door on his way.

What a stupid mistake, inviting someone to spend the night and then not even telling them where they’d be sleeping. Jack’s couch is conformable, but it’s not preferable when there’s a perfectly good bed empty. If his mother were here she’d have chided him for the slip by now.

Thinking of his mother makes him realise something though. He crosses back over to the guest room and knocks once before opening the door.

“Jack?” Eric asks uncertainly, his head lifting off his pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Jack apologises to Eric once more, realising he should have waited for permission. “I didn’t think.”

“No, it’s alright, just—“ Eric switches on the bedside lamp and sits up. He looks… Jack’s stomach flip over to see Eric sitting as he is in Jack’s shirt, hair askew.

“What is it?”

“I just—” Jack shakes his head and looks away from where his gaze fixated on the collarbone exposed by the drooping shirt collar. “Do you have anyone you need to text, or call? To tell them you’re alright. You can borrow my phone.”

“Um.” Eric looks down at his hands. “Not really.”

Jack furrows his brow.

“I’ve only been in Providence two weeks,” Eric continues, then he looks up at Jack with a sad smile. “I don’t really have friends here yet.”

Jack isn’t sure how you instigate a friendship with someone you’ve only known a few hours, so he simply nods, then stands there, trying to find the desire to leave Eric and go back to his own room.

“Was that everything?” Eric asks.

“Yeah, yes.” Jack clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Later today, I think you mean.”

“Yeah,” Jack says again, and wonders what happen to the eloquence he’d had back on the street.

“Well, goodnight, Jack. And thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack says sincerely.

He shuts the door to the guest room behind him, then goes to his own room, pressing his face harshly into his pillow when he’s in bed, thinking it was better for his sanity when Eric was only ever half-lit by old streetlights, and his beauty was easier to ignore.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack wakes the next morning feeling like he could have slept for another few hours. His body clock is too used to early morning rises though, that even his drawn-out evening hasn’t impacted how he’s waking with the sun.

This morning, however, he chooses to stay in bed. There’s no hockey for the next while, so no need to keep to a strict training schedule. Plus there’s the matter of Eric in his guest room. He shouldn’t leave him alone in his apartment.

Jack sets an alarm for another two hours and slips back to sleep.

It’s not his alarm that wakes him later, but the sound of Eric moving around. He wipes sleep from his eyes and combs his fingers through his hair as he gets out of bed. Eric is in the kitchen, dressed once more in his clothes from last night, and drinking a glass of water.

Jack waves at him when they make eye-contact, and tries not to feel uncomfortable that he’s wearing his pyjamas still.

“Do you want coffee?” He asks, pulling out two mugs when Eric nods at him.

Eric is quiet while they wait for the coffee. Either he’s not a morning person, or he’s realised he made a mistake in accepting Jack’s help last night. Jack hopes it’s the former.

“Did you sleep alright?” Jack asks for lack of a better conversation starter.

“Very well, thank you,” Eric says easily. “I think I may steal your pillow.”

Jack’s not sure what to make of the comment, and conversation halts itself again as Eric finishes his water and Jack pours coffee.

“Any milk or sugar?” Jack asks.

“Both, please.”

At least then Jack can do something other than look at Eric. He gets out sugar from his cupboard, and milk from his fridge, passing Eric on the way through and back.

Jack wishes he had the easy ability to engage in conversation that half his team-mates and college friends seem to have. Instead, he passes Eric his coffee wordlessly, and takes a sip of his own.

“Do you want breakfast?”

Jack’s not the one to ask. “Sorry, Eric,” is how he replies when he realises that as the host, he should have thought to.

“Oh, no, no.” Eric waves a hand at Jack. “I wasn’t implying you should’ve offered.”

“Right. Sorry,” Jack says again anyway.

Eric rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to apologise, Jack. Just let me make breakfast, as thanks for last night. I would… well, it’d mean a lot to me if I could.”

Jack can’t see that Eric is lying. Maybe it’s a Southern thing that he doesn’t understand. “Okay. Do you need me to show you where things are?”

Eric shakes his head, coffee already abandoned on the counter and he opens Jack’s fridge.

“I think I’ll manage. I’ve got a sixth sense with all things kitchen related.” He pulls out a carton of eggs. “Can I?”

“Help yourself to anything.”

Eric smiles uncensored at Jack, and Jack quickly excuses himself to his room to get changed, taking longer than necessary as he tries to talk himself out of nervousness that the situation is a little like a morning after.

When Jack makes it back to the kitchen, his table is already laden down with enough food to feed him and Eric three times over. He didn’t realise he’d spent so long in his bedroom.

“Perfect timing. I’m almost done. Why don’t you sit yourself down?”

Jack feels like a guest in his own house, but he does as Eric asks, and soon enough he’s joined at the table. Eric is lively across the table from him, smiling and chatting. It’s much better than last night, now that the air of uncertainty and worry has been dropped from Eric’s shoulders. Having light to see each other by is nice too. Jack can’t help but focus on Eric as he talks, retaining information that will probably not have use after this morning, whether that be about Eric’s family, or simply the way his freckles have formed in a line on his right cheek.

“This is much better than anything I’ve cooked,” Jack says after they’re finished, as Eric takes his plates over to the sink.

“Why thank you.” Eric smiles over at him from the counter, and Jack ducks his head. “I’m sure you’re not that bad. Don’t you have to take nutrition classes for hockey?”

“Sure.” Jack shrugs and his eyes find Eric’s once more. “That doesn’t mean I can cook well. Just basic foods, and I need a recipe to follow.”

“Nothing wrong with that. But if you, um, wanted to…” Eric draws his eyebrows down.

“Go on,” Jack encourages.

“Um. Well, I just was going to say…” Eric stops to open Jack’s dishwasher and add the dishes into it, slowly. “My phone’s dead.”

Jack doesn’t believe that was what Eric was intending to say originally, but he lets it go.

“That’s why I wasn’t gone when you woke up. Because I can’t look up what bus I need or where the bus stop even is. Otherwise I would’ve gotten out of your hair.”

“You haven’t been, uh, in my hair,” Jack admits. “Do you want to use my charger?”

Eric shuts the washer and looks over to Jack. “Really?”

“Of course, Eric.”

“I’ll just have it in for a few minutes, I promise. Just enough to get me home.”

Jack shows Eric where his chargers are kept and once they find the right one through trial and error, there’s an awkward pause where there’s no immediate course of entertainment for the two of them to do while they wait. They’re both dressed and the dishes are away. Jack falls back on his failsafe and imagines what Shitty would do in a situation like this. Not that’s Shitty’s ever been in one quite like this. Jack’s at least ninety-one percent sure of that, though it’s hard to tell with Shitty.

“I don’t suppose you know what bus I have to get, do you?” Eric asks, leaning on the back of Jack’s couch as Jack stands at the wall by his pool table.

“No. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Eric looks over to his phone, crossing his arms. “I look it up when my phone’s awake.”

“Use my computer,” Jack suggests, already leaving to get it from his room.

When he comes back Eric is sitting on the couch, fingers tapping against his knees.

Jack sits next to Eric and turns his laptop on. He types in his password, then sits it on the coffee table in front of Eric.

“Parlez-vous Francais?” Eric asks, surprised, looking over to Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“Mais oui. Er, Québécois. J’viens de Montréal.”

Eric blinks several times at Jack. Jack opens his mouth when he realises Eric must not understand him, but Eric raises a hand to stop him.

“Give me a moment. I think I—” Eric draws his eyebrows down and his tongue sticks out from his mouth a little. Jack tries not to focus on it. “Is it, je ne pas parle—no, wait,” he mutters. “Oh!” He turns to Jack. “Je ne parle pas français,” he says proudly.

Jack tries not to wince at the accent. He doesn’t want to be the reason Eric’s smile drops. And it was recognisable, which is what matters at the end of the day.

“I take it from your silence that was pretty terrible.” Well, he tried.

“It wasn’t so—” Eric raises an eyebrow at him. “Yes. A bit terrible.”

“Ah well,” Eric turns back to the computer. “I only just passed French in college, so no surprise there. I don’t think I can navigate this though.” Eric gestures to Jack’s laptop, which he realises is on the French language setting. He flushes and reaches for the laptop, quickly switching it to English for Eric and passing it back directly to him.

“Thanks, Jack.”

Eric brings up google and has the bus routes up much quicker than Jack could do.

“Where are we?” Eric asks him politely.

Jack’s never willing told a stranger his address before. It feels weird to point it out on the map for Eric, but it’s a little better when Eric smiles gratefully at him.

Eric decides to aim for a bus in fifteen minutes, which leaves Jack with about five to spend with Eric, waiting for his phone to charge. The times goes quickly, and before he knows it, he’s opening his door for Eric to leave and feeling early onset melancholy over his departure.

Eric’s taken only four steps before he turns around.

Eric pulls on the zipper of his jacket. “Jack?”

Jack steps out into the hall.

“I was wondering. It’s just, you’ve been real nice, and I’m still finding my way in Providence and all that. So, I thought, maybe.” Eric stops himself and drops his hands. “Okay, I’m just going to say it. Could we exchange numbers?”

Jack watches Eric, staring at him with determination, and a hint of nerves, fingers twitching again as if trying not to return to his zip. He wonders if this has anything to do with Eric’s half-formed question after breakfast.

Really, Jack should say no. The Falconers management would tell him to say no. His mother probably would too. Even Shitty, Jack thinks, would be reluctant to tell him ‘go for it, brah’, if the ‘it’ in question is giving his personal number to a man he’s met a night ago and spent only a handful of hours with.

None of those people are here now, so Jack has to rely on his own reasoning. He thinks about last night, and this morning, and how he felt talking to and being around Eric. He thinks about how he might feel if he spent more nights and mornings and maybe even some days with Eric.

Jack’s certainly not felt any undue anxiety. Eric is someone so different to the people he normally surrounds himself with; family, people who’ve known him or of him from infancy, and those in the hockey world. But Eric is just… a person. Who’s kind, and funny, and maybe a little lonely. Not to mention, Jack remembers his thoughts toward Eric in the early hours of the morning, his gut reactions to seeing him in Jack’s clothes, with the light of a bedside lamp, and while that’s not what this would be about, he can’t deny that there’s a part of him that would be alright if it turned out that way. But for now, Jack can offer Eric friendship and his knowledge of the ins and outs of the town. In fact, he realises now, standing in the hallway with Eric offering a connection between them on a silver platter, he’s been wanting the same thing for a while. To have an excuse to spend more time learning about Eric.

“That would be nice.” Jack hands Eric his phone and Eric—not surprising Jack this time—efficiently adds himself as a contact, and sends himself a text.

He hands the phone back and Jack pockets it.

“I’ll text you then, sometime,” Eric confirms.

“Please.”

Eric bites his lip before darting forward and wrapping his arms around Jack. “Thank you for everything,” he whispers and pulls away before Jack has a chance to hug him back.

Eric smiles at Jack one last time before he disappears around the corner. Jack waits until he hears the ding of an arrived elevator before he walks slowly back to his apartment.

He takes his mobile out once the door is shut behind him, and pulls up his messages. At the top is a text containing a single exclamation point, to Eric Bittle. Jack smiles and looks over to his laptop, conveniently out. He logs onto Facebook and after a fair few minutes of searching, does something he hasn’t done in years; he sends a friend request. To Eric “Bitty” Bittle.

Eric must be on his phone because it’s accepted almost immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> Can be found on [tumblr](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/tagged/mine) too. Thanks for reading to completion folks :)


End file.
